Don't be a Writer. Be writing. ~ Ernest Hemingway

Tag Archives: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

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“I see it, Trav.” Brad tried to muster as much enthusiasm to counter the growing sense of dread. “Are you guys ready to have some fun?” How did he end up taking four children under the age of eight to an amusement park?

That’s right: he actually volunteered to do it.

Jillian spent the first night of their vacation locked in the bathroom, courtesy of a dinner entrée that decided to bite back. She suggested that Brad take their seven-year old twins, Travis and Tristan, three-year old Justin, and six-month old Brandy to spend the day at the pool while she rested. Brad insisted that he could handle the kids in the park alone for one day.

“Afternoon, sir. Tickets?” Brad gave their tickets to the shuttle operator. “One adult. Four children.”

I love the beach, and I love to people watch.Sitting on my lounger, clad in sunglasses and a wide-brim hat, I blend into the surrounding landscape to observe unsuspecting beachgoers.

There is a darling young couple who appear to be enamored with one another, sharing kisses and inappropriate touches just beyond the shoreline.

I spot grandparents on holiday with their two young grandchildren.As their grandfather encourages them to venture further out into the ocean, his wife alternatively scolds him while gently coaxing the children closer to the shore.

A group of college students just arrived, carrying chairs and a cooler full of water bottles.Or so it appears.As the day wears on and the lively group becomes more boisterous, it is obvious that the bottles contain more than just water.

Or maybe not.All of this is pure speculation on my part, a by-product of my overactive imagination.I gather my things and prepare to take my leave.Tomorrow is new day, another opportunity to create new stories.

Legend has it that a single touch of the Ice Princess could chill you from the inside out. Flowers wither and die. Trees become barren, leaving only icy limbs. Rivers and streams are stilled, becoming frozen tundra. The air around her held a constant chill.

The Ice Princess was a beautiful maiden with long, flowing platinum blond hair. Her skin was pale and translucent, reflecting the surrounding light. Her eyes were held the tint of a full moon, swirling shades of electric silvers, muted grays, and soft blues. But her beauty was fatal. Those who ventured too close learned of her power only seconds before their hearts literally hardened in their chest as their blood turned ice cold.

It was just as I imagined: the perfect starter home for a new family.Jeff and I both wanted to wait at least two years before having kids.About three years after that, we’d try for our second, and it would be time to look for something with more space.

Because of his travel, Jeff worried about me being at home alone so a third floor condo was the perfect solution.The open, spacious floor plan would be ideal for hosting dinner parties and get-togethers with family and friends.I visualized the perfect location for our Christmas tree.This condo offered a bird’s eye view of the courtyard.

This place was perfect.

“Can the space be modified to accommodate her wheelchair?”My mother asks the realtor.

I tune out the response, focused on the courtyard.Even if the condo could accommodate my wheelchair, I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel at home here.The same accident that claimed by ability to walk also robbed me of Jeff and the life we’d envisioned.

Autumn is my favorite season, and there is nothing like the turn of the season at our family cabin.My parents and siblings like to visit in the spring and summer, take advantage of the cool, clear lake and hiking trails.I didn’t care for all of that.Instead, I enjoy the cool, crisp days and the chill in the air during the clear, moonlit nights that mark the steady approach of old man winter.

The leaves turn colors and fall from the branches.Once they are bare, I take to the woods with my trusty ax to gather firewood. I chop down a few trees, and store the logs in the woodshed just beyond the back door in anticipation of a heavy snowfall.

Along the way, I would also search for budding spruce, marking it in preparation for our family Christmas celebration, the one time of the year we all enjoy visiting the cabin.

“For the both of us.It’s only five rounds. Five minutes each.The bell marks the end of round.There is a mixer after the final round where you can talk to someone who may have sparked your interest.Or leave and go home.”

“And the cups are for what exactly?”

“It’s just water, you know for drinking.Talking to people actually works up a thirst.You should try it sometime.”

“Or not because talking to you always exhaust me.”

“Come on, Shelly.What have we got to lose by giving this a try?”

“I don’t know: our dignity!”

“Don’t be so dramatic.This is long overdue.You need to get back out there.It’s been two years.”

I inherited my love of reading from my grandfather.The oldest of eight children, Pop-pop dropped out at seventeen to work at the local factory.He’d planned to go to college, but his dream died along with his father.By the time his youngest sibling graduated high school, Pop-pop was married to his childhood sweetheart with a baby on the way. Family always came first.

After dinner, Pop-pop spent hours in his barn.One evening, I asked if I could tag along, and he agreed.Inside the barn, there was an old wagon filled with old mattresses and pillows atop bales of hay.It was surrounded by stacks and stacks of newspaper.This is where Pop-pop retreated each and every night, reading the day’s paper from cover to cover.

It became our nightly ritual.I’d follow my grandfather into the barn, and we’d sit side-by-side in comfortable silence.Pop-pop with his newspaper, and me with a book of my own.